Perfect Song #9

It’s July 2013. 

I’m sitting on a train headed northwest from London to Stratford-upon-Avon. My travel companion, Noah Hall, is sitting across the aisle. I’m wondering if the dark cloud that landed with me at Heathrow is big enough now to swallow him, too. There’s been a heatwave killing people in London. We’ve been mostly on foot to save cash, dragging around our luggage and guitars, missing our stops, walking in circles, exhausted and hungry. I have a then-undiagnosed autoimmune disease and I’m on a medication that makes me retain water. My ankles are the size of grapefruits. 

The label slashed the budget for this haphazard tour, so we spent the past few nights at a hostel. We split the cost to upgrade to a private room, but there’s only one bed, so we’re taking turns sleeping on the hardwood floor. Last night I lay flat on my back with my legs propped up on a wooden chair, staring at the water damage on the ceiling, listening to a different species of young people scream-sing Usher songs downstairs in the pub. There is a mural around the corner reads:

IT IS THE THUDDING IN MY EAR

UPON THE PILLOW THAT SOUNDS

LIKE A BLACK MARE CHURNING

DREAMS FROM THE GROUND

If you scroll back far enough in the Hexteria Facebook photos, you’ll find this along with a handful of other heavily filtered photos of beautiful, if brief, moments from this trip.

If I believed in a god, it would be speaking to me through this wall.

I had some kind of quiet breakdown in Camden Market on an outdoor stage, mid-set. It continued for the rest of the day and blew right through the Klonopin.

There were a lot of promises made. Stipends, comfortable accommodations, a tour manager. I put my real job on the line after being pressured by the label to go on this 3-week UK tour. As the departure date approached, the tone shifted. A tense final meeting made it clear that this was going to more closely resemble a mostly unpaid busking expedition. It was too late to back out.

Noah and I are only days into the tour and I’m already unraveling. Physically, mentally, and spiritually the vultures are circling. I’m embarrassed by my exhaustion so I’ve been choking down the pain to keep moving. I secretly hope that I get sick enough to collapse. They’d have to send me home early, right?

We’re going to make a stop in Tanworth-in-Arden so Noah can pay respect to one of his heroes. We get along well and have a genuine mutual respect for each other as musicians, but we both need space. Luckily, this train car has plenty of empty seats to create the illusion of privacy.

I’m looking out the window, earbuds blasting the album that is my longest-standing summer survival tool. By track #12, we’re deep into the countryside. Pastoral expanses and rolling hills. I’ve finished crying. I’m empty. And through this vacancy, I exited my body and merged with the sweeping landscape.

I am on the other side.

Next thing I know, we’re combing the aisles in the cemetery of the Church of St. Mary Magdalene, looking for Nick Drake. We do eventually find the grave and I see tears well up in Noah’s eyes. I don’t really understand it, but I’m happy for him.

When we get back on the train, I work on my set list.

Noah later told me that my earbuds were so loud that he knew what album I was listening to from across the train.

Today’s perfect song is “I Can’t See New York” by Tori Amos—track #12 from the album Scarlet’s Walk (a perfect album).

From the other side,

<3 Tonya